


On a Lone Winter Evening, When the Frost has Wrought a Silence

by Bofur1



Category: The Hobbit (2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anxiety, Baby Dwarves, Being Lost, Blizzards & Snowstorms, Brother Feels, Dreams and Nightmares, Drinking to Cope, F/M, Help, Medicinal Drug Use, Mother-Son Relationship, Newborn Children, Search and Rescue, Sick Character, Unexpected Visitors, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Worry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-26
Updated: 2013-08-10
Packaged: 2017-12-09 14:25:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/775225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bofur1/pseuds/Bofur1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fundin's wife, Deallyra, goes out into a blizzard to visit an ill friend, taking her newborn son, Balin, with her. On her return, Deallyra loses her way. Will she and her child be conquered by the storm? Will Fundin lose all that is precious to him?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Into the Swirling Darkness

A blizzard was raging in the heart of Middle Earth. The wind moaned through the trees and snow gusted against the houses built along the cliffs of the Blue Mountains. Inside one of these houses, Fundin son of Farin paced rapidly across the length of the living room. His hooded brows were knit and his mouth pursed in worry. Fundin glanced repeatedly out the window, but he could barely see through the snowdrift that was building up against the glass.

Where was Deallyra? His wife had promised that she would only be away for a few hours, visiting Fundin’s friend Grár and his wife Neisa. Their son Frár had fallen ill, and Deallyra was going to bring them medicine. Now it was very late in the night, and Deallyra had not yet returned.

Fundin was also very concerned about his baby. Deallyra had taken their newborn Balin with her, insisting that Neisa should see him. Fundin had been reluctant to allow Balin out of his sight, but his wife had at last convinced him, on the proviso that little Balin would stay far, far away from Frár and his virus.

As he walked restlessly back and forth, Fundin’s disquieted mind replayed his wife and son’s departure.

_“Be careful, Lyra,” Fundin said quietly. His wife’s silver gray eyes crinkled in a broad grin._

_“Aren’t I always?”_

_Fundin gave his wife a tight smile, hoping that Lyra was taking him seriously. He then made sure (for the fifth time) that little Balin was secure in his baby sling. Gently caressing the infant’s soft cheek, staring into his tawny brown eyes, Fundin whispered, “Stay safe, little one.” In answer, Balin seized his father’s finger and began sucking on it contentedly._

_After detaching her son from Fundin, Deallyra stood on tiptoe to catch her husband’s cheek with a kiss. “We’ll be fine,” she assured him one last time. With a readjusting of hood and baby blanket, Lyra and Balin disappeared into the swirling darkness._

Fundin sank wearily into his chair by the hearth and stared into the cold ashes. Head bowed, he prayed desperately to Mahal that his fears were unfounded and that Lyra and Balin would return to him soon.

 

* * *

 

Deallyra tromped through the snow, back bent with the effort of walking. The snow was up to her knees; there were times when Lyra had to dig her way through the drifts and wriggle her way out of holes. All the while she was careful not to jar the burden strapped tightly to her front.

“I know it’s cold, my love,” Lyra murmured, stroking the downy hair on her son’s chin. “We’ll be home soon, I promise.” Balin whimpered softly and cowered close to his mother’s chest, trying to escape the bitter air. Lyra gave a weary sigh, planted a kiss on Balin’s head, and continued onward.

After a long while of walking, Deallyra began to wonder when the lights of the house would appear. She halted for a moment, rubbing her chapped hands together and squinting around her. All she could see was snow—in every direction.

Lyra felt fear strike her heart. She couldn’t be lost. Not now. Not with her baby in the dead of winter!

“We’re not lost,” she tried to convince herself. “We’re just...turned around. Isn’t that right, sweetheart?” Absently she allowed Balin to gum her finger as she attempted to get her bearings. “We’ve been walking south so far...” _I think._ “And our house is in the east, which means we turn slightly to our left, and then after walking a bit, we’ll be there.” _I hope._ “Alright, Balin, we can do this. Let’s get a move on. I’m sure your silly old Adad is worrying.”

Pushing the uncertainty to the back of her mind, Lyra waded through an especially deep snowdrift and set off in what she _really_ wanted to be the right direction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FYI: The boy Frár is, when he grows up, a companion of Balin when he tries to retake Moria. I thought that would be an interesting tidbit to sneak in there.


	2. Degration

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fundin continues to fret. Lyra and Balin's situation worsens.

Exactly as Deallyra had predicted, Fundin was becoming more and more concerned. The storm was growing harsher and swifter and the silence of the house was closing in.

Fundin tried to take his mind off his family by keeping busy. He read for a while (stared unseeingly at the words), ate supper (stabbed viciously at a cold slab of pork), and then smoked his pipe (without anything in it).

At last he had to recognize that there would be no safe haven for his troubled mind. He only had one last idea.

Slowly rising, Fundin trudged wearily up the stairs to his bedroom. He kicked off his heavy boots but didn’t bother to undress as he tumbled into his bed. He’d not done any physical work, but his mind was exhausted by all these agonizing thoughts. As soon as he fell asleep, dark visions of blank tombstones, an abandoned cradle, and frozen bodies began to stir.

 

* * *

 

 

The blizzard had worsened considerably, Lyra knew. As she walked, she often had to choke back the sense of dread that threatened to strangle her. Dwarves were hearty folk, renowned for their endurance, but even they could be brought down if they spent too much time outside in these icy winter months.

Deallyra kept talking as she traveled, trying to ignore the cold and her fear. “It was nice seeing Neisa and Grár again. Poor little Frár, though. It must be ghastly to be sick in this kind of weather.” She laughed slightly, her breath coming in foggy puffs. “Although, we won’t find out what it’s like. We won’t be out for much longer. Home should be nearby, then we can warm up by the fire.”

Despite her optimism, the journey became progressively tougher. As her boots filled with heavy slush and flurries blinded her, Lyra constantly had to stop to regain at least a marginal sense of direction. “We’ll be home soon,” she told herself again and again. “We’ll be there soon. Just a bit longer...”

She gave a sigh and glanced down at Balin. He was growing fussy in the cold and was frequently whimpering and squirming. “You’re being very distracting, little one,” Deallyra told him. Balin looked miserably up at her, lower lip trembling. Lyra felt a pang of pity and sorrow as she saw his eyes, glossy with unshed tears.

It was then that a gust of wind blew Lyra right off her unbalanced feet. She landed hard on her back, yelping as she skidded across the icy ground. She sat up painfully, groaning as she turned her attention to her baby, little face crimson and scrunched up in a scream.

“Ooh, I’m sorry, sweetheart,” Deallyra moaned as Balin wailed, nearly unheard under the wind. “Shh, shh, it’s alright. I’m very sorry about that.” She staggered to her feet, arms out for balance. “That was exciting,” she muttered sarcastically. Looking about, she endeavored to find her trail. But her original footprints were gone, buried by the snowfall.

Where on earth were they now?


	3. Aid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fundin grows desperate.

Fundin woke after a while feeling worse than he had when he’d fallen asleep. His mouth felt dry and his stomach clenched in anxiety. He shouldn’t be fretting so, he knew. Lyra had probably forgotten about the time. It had gotten late and she’d probably asked to stay at Grár and Neisa’s for the night.

 _They’re sure to be home in the morning_ , Fundin tried to tell himself. But there was _something_. Something he just knew, solid as the stone house surrounding him, deep in his heart. There was an instinct telling him something was wrong.

Unnerved by the silence and exhausted by the wait, Fundin shuffled back downstairs. He knew there would be no prospect of slumber again until his wife lay in bed beside him and his son was curled up in his cradle.

He spent a long time pacing restlessly in the living room. At last, desperate for relief, he poured himself a pitcher of ale and drank until he fell into a dream. His last sentient thought was: _Maybe they’ll be back by the time I wake up..._

When he stirred from his stupor, Fundin found that the house was empty. For a second his lethargic mind did not understand what this meant and then it came to him. They were still gone.

 _Missing_. The word burst into his head and caused his heart to plummet. Fundin leapt to his feet, seizing his cloak from his closet. He needed to get help, for if he searched alone he would surely lose his way also. Fundin knew exactly who to go to.

Fortunately the house he wanted wasn’t far and Fundin would know the way in any sort of weather. However, the flurries of snow and his panic caused him to do a bit too much hurrying, and he ended up running face-first into the backdoor. There was a bang and a sickening crunch and Fundin stumbled backward into a snowdrift.

Though stars and snowflakes were dancing in front of his vision, Fundin could still see the door fly open. A stocky Dwarf with reddish-brown hair stood glaring out at him, axe in hand.

“What’re you doing, fool, running into my backdoor?!” he shouted above the wind.

Too dazed to answer verbally, Fundin shook off his hood, revealing his face. The Dwarf drew in his breath and his axe fell ringing against the doorstep.

“Fundin! By Mahal—what...what _are_ you doing, running into my backdoor?” Treading carefully on the slippery ground, he seized Fundin by the arm and, with more effort than he cared to admit, hoisted him onto his feet. “You must be daft, _nadad_ , to be out in this sort o’ weather!” Gróin exclaimed. “C’mon, inside with you. Nean will fix you something.”

The two brothers staggered into the house, and Gróin, grumbling under his breath about the wind, slammed the door shut.

Gróin’s wife, Neanélla, soon emerged from the bedroom. “What’s all the row out here?” she snapped crossly. Her eyebrows rose. “Ah, Fundin. What are you doing here?”

“Not right now, Nean,” Gróin sighed. “Could you make something—tea, coffee, something?”

“No, I don’t want anything!” Fundin said intensely. “Except your help, Gróin.”

His younger brother looked far up at him with concerned maple-brown eyes. Fundin could at least think straight enough that he collapsed into a chair so Gróin wouldn’t have to crane his neck.

“What on earth is wrong, Fundin? You’re so uptight, and have you been drinkin’?” Gróin asked worriedly as he sat across from Fundin.

“My wife is missing!” Fundin burst out. “She went out into the storm to give medicine to a friend, which was hours ago and she hasn’t come home and I think she’s lost and she took Balin with her!”

“Your baby?!” Gróin gasped. “What sort of fool would take their child out in—” He stopped at Fundin’s icy glare. “I chose my words poorly,” he amended hastily. “So,” he continued cautiously, “what do you want from me?”

“I need your help in finding them!” Fundin cried desperately. Sometimes his brother could be very dense about the simplest things. “I plan to go out and search!”

“But if they’ve been gone for some hours, as you say, they could have wandered anywhere by now,” Neanélla remarked, worriedly twisting her beard in knots. “And what if you get lost too?”

“Nean’s right, Fundin,” Gróin said sadly. “It wouldn’t do them any good.”

“It won’t do them any good to freeze to death, either!” Fundin shouted. Gróin held up his hands in a passive gesture.

“I know, I know. Alright, Fundin. I’ll come with you. Nean, please get the lanterns while I get into some warmer clothing.” He jumped to his feet, but Fundin caught him by the arm.

“Thank you, brother. You don’t know...” He swallowed awkwardly. “...you don’t know how much this means to me.”

Gróin nodded silently and then dashed up the stairs. Fundin sat numbly while preparations were made to head out and when his brother was ready the two headed for the door.

Neanélla caught her husband’s arm. “Gróin,” she burst out fearfully, so much concealed in that one word. Fundin paused. Nean was so different from his wife. She was often cautious, perhaps excessively, while Lyra was bold, fearless, and sometimes reckless also.

“I’ll be fine,” Gróin said gruffly. “We both will.” Nean nodded slowly and released him. Fundin opened the door and the search party of two set off.


	4. Nothing Like the Cold

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Khuzdûl Translations:
> 
> entlin: sweetheart  
> ghivâshelûh: treasure of treasures

“There’s nothing quite like a storm, is there, _entlin_?” Deallyra shivered. “It breaks on stone and cannot touch us when we’re in it. But what lives in the stone should stay in the stone, that’s for certain.” She was beginning to regret going to her friends’ house in the first place. It had helped them, but it definitely had not helped her and her child.

Balin whined again pitifully, sounding like an agitated kitten. His tiny fists clenched into his mother’s beard, trying, as it seemed, to pull it over him and shield him from the storm. He flinched as a large snowflake melted upon his brow.

“Yes...it’s called snow, my _ghivâshelûh_.” She halted a moment, supporting her son’s fuzz-crowned head in her large hand, running her thumb over the edge of his left ear. She was strong and weather-worn, but the cold was being very harsh on Balin’s infant skin. With concern she made a mental note to move the cradle downstairs next to the hearth when they returned home.

If they returned home.

“No, no,” she muttered under her breath. “Don’t think that way. You’ll find it soon.” She glanced at Balin and gave him a small smile. “Don’t look at me like that. I’m just talking to myself.”

Balin blinked at her, seeming entirely uncaring about her habits and more taken with the climate; Deallyra felt his body tense as he cringed in the next gust of wind. He whimpered for a long moment and then released a sob so small it was noiseless. Deallyra felt it against her chest, however, and took action.

“Oh,” she crooned, tucking thick portions of her beard into folds of Balin’s pouch. “Hush, it’s alright. Soon we’ll be at home with Adad and he’ll fuss, make sure you’re wrapped in five blankets or more.” She knew Balin didn’t understand a word she was saying; she was trying to comfort herself more than him.

Deallyra took a moment more to console him and then waded forward, not long afterward tripping over a root. A curse slipped from her mouth, followed by a growl: “Trees...” She considered, mentally visualizing the area, and then the dam broke and the curse repeated itself excessively. There were no trees near their home. All this time she’d been going in the wrong direction.

“This is a mighty fix!” she shouted to the storm. “Where am I to go now?!”

As though understanding their hopeless situation, Balin burst into tears. Deallyra startled and though she tried to calm him he simply wailed louder. Lyra gave a weary sigh and sank down, resting her back against the large tree. For many long moments she simply sat there, hoping that Balin would simply scream himself out.

“You’ve quite the lungs there, my boy,” murmured Lyra, wincing as Balin howled again to prove her point. She waited patiently, but apparently until they were completely out of the cold Balin would not tire of explaining his discomfort.

“Alright, laddie, let’s get a move on,” Deallyra sighed, struggling to her feet and plunging back the way they’d previously come.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading; I hope you enjoyed! Of course, comments and kudos are always greatly appreciated! :)
> 
> Just FYI: I got the title of this story from a quote by John Keats.


End file.
